Music is the Strongest Form of Magic
by Not2Cool
Summary: Not that infiltrating Hydra bases with a plan to bring everyone there to proper justice wasn't fun, but rats were not fun. Neither, for that matter, were the bodies littering the floor. Steve, Tony, and Natasha are the only Avengers available when a new mission is called in - a top secret Hydra base, claimed to be containing an alien weapon, has had its location compromised
1. Prologue

_Not that infiltrating Hydra bases with a plan to bring everyone there to proper justice wasn't fun, but rats were_ not _fun._

 _Neither, for that matter, were the bodies littering the floor._

THIRTY MINUTES AGO…

Steve slid his shield onto his back, grasping his helmet in one hand as he moved to peer over Natasha and Tony's shoulders, where Fury's written instructions were in bold black electronic letters on Tony's tablet.

"How many times are you going to go over the same seven paragraphs?" He asked with a frown. "We already know what we're doing."

"It's just…" Tony shook his head. "Something isn't right about this."

"He isn't wrong." Natasha murmured, reaching out a finger to scroll slightly. "Hydra usually bring their captives _to_ them as opposed to building an entire base around the captive."

"We don't even know it's a person." Steve reminded. "All we know is it's something alien."

"He." Natasha said. "Gregory referred to their new alien weapon as a 'he' before he died."

 _Before he died._

Steve scowled at how simply Natasha stated that, as if the Hydra agent's death hadn't been due to SHIELD's replacement of much needed medical attention with rigorous interrogation. But the man was already dead - he couldn't complain now. Not when said death had led to possibly one of Hydra's most dangerous operations yet.

Whatever was under the ground floor of the sleek one-story lab they circled was most definitely not good - probably evil, for that matter.

The sheer thought of what they might find made Steve cringe. He shook his head and left Natasha and Tony to their scrolling.

It was just the three of them on the plane - said plane was being driven remotely by a SHIELD operative to keep from putting any extra people in harm's way.

Natasha had frowned when Clint hadn't returned from his previous mission in time to join their little raid, but so far that was the only emotion she had showed in the whole matter.

In short every other avenger had their reasons for either backing out or never getting in to start with, so they had no backup - one more reason not to screw this up.

The consol up where the pilot _would_ be sitting were they present beeped, and Tony passed off his tablet to Natasha and crossed to it. "What's up, Linda?"

Steve shook his head that Tony was already on first name basis with their pretty brunette of a remote pilot, but didn't mention it, as 'Linda's' expression was grim.

"There's definitely something going on down there, Tony." She said. "I'm getting some really strange readings."

"Define strange." Tony folded his arms, chewing his lip in his own form of worry.

"Life signs." Linda said. "I'm not getting any human readings above ground, but I am getting…"

"What?"

"Well, I'm not sure exactly." Linda said. "They're small, but I dare say there's a thousand of them at least - little heartbeats littering the lab where human life signs should be."

"Hydra could be messing with your readings." Natasha appeared at Tony's other side. "They are far from unequipped."

"If they are, this is new technology." Linda said. "I've never seen anything quite like this."

Tony nodded slowly. "Besides the billion little heartbeats, what do you see down there?"

"Their computer system is hardwired down to the last strand of cable." Linda said. "But that was to be expected - in any case I can't get in without an implant. The layout is simple enough, but I cannot see much past the first level... there's at least three levels under the earth, but I can't make much of them out."

Steve gave a low whistle. "Alright. Can you set us down around the side? Maybe over behind that outcrop?"

"No," Tony said before Linda could respond. "Set us right out front."

"Excuse me?" Steve looked at him.

"This is Hydra." Tony reminded. "Masters of snakey stuff. We can't beat them at their own game - we're going to do the one thing they'd never suspect."

"Walk right in the front door." Natasha nodded, brows furrowing. "It is risky, but, as you say, unexpected."

"Wait a second." Steve stared at her. "You're agreeing with him?"

"You've been outvoted!" Tony held up his hand in triumph. "Linda, set us down out front. We're going to go ring Hydra's doorbell!"

ONE HOUR EARLIER...

Murut was shoved roughly into a stiff metal chair and someone tugged the bag off his head, flooding his sore eyes with paralysing white light.

When he was finally able to see, he found a familiar man sitting across the metal table from him.

When it was seen he was focusing well enough, the man wordlessly tugged his handkerchief from his suit-coat pocket and used it to lift something from a wooden box on his side.

The clatter of the black metal of the flute on the silver metal of the table echoed deafeningly in the deathly silent room.

The man still did not speak, he simply looked at Murut with those dark eyes, those unscathed hands folded neatly on the tabletop before him.

Murut raised his own hands to the table - his hands wrapped in bloody bandages that only half covered the swollen awkward angles of his fingers. "Do you expect me to play, Bailey?"

The man raised a single eyebrow in response. "You seem oblivious, old friend. Shall I enlighten you?"

Murut cut his eyes to the two armed men that stood at his sides. "You cannot do much more to me, _old friend_." He said. "You need me."

"No," the man said, quiet and calm as if having a pleasant conversation over a fancy dinner rather than this. "I need what you have, not you."

"I know that all too well." Murut sighed. "I am not stupid, Bailey."

"Nor am I." Bailey still refused to show emotion. Not even that little hint of a smile he had let slip as his inferiors had snapped every bone in both Murut's hands one by one.

Murut sighed. "You know I cannot give you what you want."

"I know you can lie very well." Bailey replied.

"It," Murut tossed his head at the black flute on the table, "Would not work for you if I bid it. It controls me more than I it; but then, we have already been through this, have we not?"

Bailey rested his loosely clasped hands closer to the instrument. "I suppose we have. But I am not one for fairy tales."

Murut rolled his eyes. "Is this the part where someone stabs me in the neck with sedatives and drags me off before I test your patience?" He looked between the men at his sides. "Anyone? No?"

They cast him sidelong glares, not really meeting his eyes.

Murut sighed, a little over-dramatically. "Well, maybe in a minute then. So, uh…" He testingly shifted his own hands closer to the flute under the pretence of leaning closer to Bailey to annoy him. "Read any good books lately?"

"Not anything worth mentioning." Bailey said flatly. "It is your story you should be more interested in now, anyways."

Still the blank-faced man did not show a reaction - not even in his eyes. It was a hard thing to mask, the eyes. Murut wondered how many years Bailey had worked to perfect that mask… it was a sad thing that such talent had to be backed by such cruelty.

Murut might almost feel sorry for killing the man. That would be, if his plan worked.

This was the first time they had put his beloved flute within his reach, and, broken hands or not, they were going to realize their mistake.

If he could just get a little closer…


	2. Rats - Everywhere

The doors were glass, and the sight past them was only less friendly as the distance shortened.

The trio stood about three meters from the entrance, staring.

The right door couldn't even close properly - there was a bloody arm lying across the frame, a handgun arranged around the unmoving hand, dead fingers stiff about the trigger. But that wasn't the most disturbing thing in view.

Rats - there were dozens of them in the lobby alone. Rats that scampered over oddly angled limps and bloody chests like it were a playground, rats that chewed at frayed suit coats and gnawed at bits of uncovered flesh.

"What happened here?" Steve barely whispered, but even that was too loud.

The rats all looked up, ears twitching in interest. Apparently the Quinjet landing hadn't been enough of an indicator for them of these new visitors.

Their noses wrinkled, and they squeaked amongst themselves. Then, all at once, they scuttled from the room down three different hallways.

The trio exchanged looks.

"Cheery." Tony muttered.

"Not the word I would use." Natasha said solemnly.

"Cheery." Steve echoed nonetheless.

They stared a good bit longer, but no rats returned to munch on the deceased Hydra agents; not a one.

"Should… should we go in?" Natasha asked.

"The Hydra agents couldn't control it." Tony said. "Who says we can?"

"Hydra agents are cruel and forceful." Steve said. "We are here to contain, not control. Hopefully this… alien weapon will be more acceptable to that."

"We don't even know this was the weapon." Natasha reminded. "Someone else could have done this, breaking in to get the weapon."

"Noted." Tony set his jaw, hating the idea of going inside that rat infested building almost more than he hated admitting he was wrong. "Well, we didn't fly all this way for nothing."

"Maybe we should wait until some more of the Avengers can get out here." Steve suggested. "Hang around outside, make sure no one and nothing comes in or out until we get some back up?"

"That could take days, or even weeks." Natasha rolled her eyes, starting forward and tossing a taunt over her shoulder; "Not afraid a little mice, are we boys?"

Tony and Steve exchanged looks - they had been challenged, and neither, while for different reasons, was going to back down.

Tony lowered his faceplate, and together the men followed Natasha over the body in the doorway and into the Hydra base.

The halls they adventured were void of the living. Tony shoved a USB drive into a computer console they passed, allowing their pilot Linda to access the system remotely. It wasn't long before she had the base's security cameras up.

"Oh." She squeaked over the comms.

"Yeah." Steve murmured, cringing as he took an extra-high step to cross a mangled Hydra agent. "Oh."

Only Natasha wasn't squeamish - if the trails of blood and the tattered flesh fazed her, she didn't show it. She stepped over the dead like they were no more an inconvenience than stepping over a bramble in the woods.

"Everyone." Linda whispered, her voice still high. "There's not a person alive in the whole base…"

"Can you be sure?" Steve asked. "Maybe some of them are just unconscious…"

"I…" Linda licked her lips. "I can run a sweep over the building using internal sensors… It'll take a few minutes… but Captain… most of these people aren't even in one piece anymore."

"Do it." Steve ordered.

"What about rats?" Tony asked. "Do you see any rats?"

"...Rats?" Linda questioned. "I… there's… not much but… dead bodies… rats… rats… oh! Rats!"

"Linda?" Tony pressed. "Where are the rats?"

"I thought they were the carpet until I focused on them!" Linda cried. "There's like, hundreds of them! Oh gods, they're… they're…!"

"Eating people." Natasha said dryly. "Yes, we know. What level are they on?"

"The… the lowest level." Linda said. "Level six - they're all gathered outside this door… I… I think there are more inside that room."

"What's inside that room?" Steve queried.

"I… I don't know." Linda clicked and scrolled but with no result. "There's know cameras in there."

The trio exchanged glances. No cameras? This base, even in carnage, had something to hide. And perhaps it was a coincidence that the strange rats had all decided to gather around and in that hidden thing, but it most likely wasn't.

No, it most definitely wasn't.

Not trusting the elevators, they found a stairwell and started down.

"Linda," Tony instructed as they descended. "Run the tapes back - say, one and a half hours. FRIDAY says these guys are still warm."

"Yeah." Linda murmured. "I'm on it."

 _Level Six._

Another set of glances was exchanged. Another dead body propped the door open - this time a bloody ankle with a shredded, fleshy sock; the lobby wasn't the only place those rats had been using for an all-you-can-eat-buffet.

Steve tugged at the door handle, which had a bloody handprint wrapped around it, with two fingers and a both disgusted and pained expression and held it open for his teammates to enter.

They did, and Steve followed.

It was obvious which way to go - small, red, rat-feet footprints trailed the tiles, heading to the left, as if a whole swarm of the little monsters had come through at top speed. They probably had.

Tony powered up his blaster and took the lead, aiming his arm out to strike at anything that might appear from the the steel doors at the end of the hall

Steve swung his shield gracefully to his arm and Natasha swiped a finger at the taser built into her bracelet, turning the small device blue with charge.

They crept forward slower now, eyes somehow more alert than before, steps light and stance ready for a hit from any direction.

As they approached, the worried squeaks of small rodents could be heard through the metal.


	3. What Happened?

Murut opened his eyes and groaned when he was met with bright white light. He wasn't back in his cell - no his cell was dark. Too dark. He closed his eyes against the stabbing pain from above.

He thought back, trying to remember what came before the bliss of unconsciousness. He had been brought to Bailey's interrogation room for the who knew how many times now, he had been his usual determinedly disobedient self, despite the searing pain in his shattered hands, and this time he had been given a spark of hope…

Had he reached it? Had he finally wrapped his fingers around the soothing metal of his precious flute once more? Had the familiar smooth curves of black steel touched his lips before he could be stopped? Was that enough?

Murut fought to open his eyes again, cringing against the blinding light but refusing to drift away again until he knew his situation.

He was met with a small black nose mere inches from his nose.

The rodent's whiskers wriggled, and Murut's dry lips smiled a genuine smile for the first time in seventeen years.

"Hey, buddy." He rasped.

The rat gave a squeal of joy, hopping onto its hind legs to thrash its head in some form of victory.

A chorus of matching squeals exploded around him.

The sound was a fully welcome stab of pain to his ears, and though he could have sworn his ears were literally bleeding, Murut didn't want it to stop.

He was light-headed, feeling as if he might slip back into the darkness of sleep at any moment, but he was more happy than he could ever remember being.

As the rodent's cheer died down, two rats scurried forward, nosing a familiar of sleek black cylinder before them.

"My… my flute." Murut coughed, reaching weakly for the beloved instrument.

The rats rolled the flute into his waiting palm, and he let it rest there, too exhausted to even try and curl his busted fingers around it.

Several of the fuzzy grey vermin scuttled forward with worried expressions, sniffing Murut up and down, one concentrating on his hands and giving him a look of pained sympathy.

"I know." He whispered too them, as dozens upon dozens of small eyes focused on him with similar expressions. "I am wounded. But, I am free. It… it is better now."

There was a squeak from behind him, and a sharp pain cut through his haze, centered at the base of his neck.

Squeaks piped up all around him, a small collection at the back of his head shushing them with a demanding cry, and two rats hopped onto Murut's shoulder to give an announcement.

"What… what is it?" Murut asked.

The larger of the rats perched on the edge of his shoulder gave several, important-sounding squeals.

"I… yeah, do that."

But several of the rodents on the edge of the crowd had already run to obey before he seconded the order.

"B-Bailey." Murut said. "Is… is he dead? Are we certain we… we are safe?"

The rodents all exchanged determining looks, and one stepped forward to deliver the desired huff of explanation.

Murut gave into a deep sigh. "Good."

But the rat wasn't finished with his report - Murut's eyes grew wider with each squeak of the report, and it wasn't until another of the rodents nudged his forehead with its small, wet nose that he remembered to breathe.

"Wh-what? How? Who?"

The crowd erupted again, each rat trying to explain from his or her own perspective, and not a word of it actually being heard by anyone.

"ENOUGH!" Murut bellowed, his own ears howling in protest, his head flaming as he let it fall the two inches back to the tile. "One… at… a time." He panted.

They obeyed, the smaller rat on Murut's shoulder taking over the story, in more detail this time.

"And…" Murut said when they were done. "How close are they?"

As if on cue every rat in the room's ears perked, and a hushed murmur of distressed squeaks rippled through the room.

Rodents scattered from Murut's path as he drew himself to a sitting position with trembling arms, dragging himself painfully to lean against the far wall, facing the double steel doors across the room.

He fought flaming pain as he curled his shattered fingers around his instrument, black spots dancing in his eyes as he panted, watching those doors, waiting for them to open.

Give us strength, my lord! Came the resounding hum as the rodents all turned to face the doors with aggressive stances. Give us the power to kill!

No. Murut replied, weak in physical but not mental power. We do not yet understand what they want. They could prove useful.

Give us strength, my lord! The mental cries continued despite. Give us the power to kill!


	4. We're Here to Help

Tony rested his left armored hand on the steel door, his right hand blaster powered up and ready to fire at anything that made a move.

He looked between his teammates, who both nodded grimly.

Tony gave the door a brutal shove - the steel scraping the floor was lost in the shriek of the hundreds of rodents that swarmed the floor, the rats growling and screaming, building a defensive line so thick the floor could not be seen.

A defensive line… around…

"Guys," Tony said. "There's a person in here."

Natasha would have rolled her eyes had they not been fixed on the young man across the room in a sort of trance.

He was propped awkwardly against the wall, blood staining the neck of his white tee shirt and the tips of his brown-sugar hair, his eyes wide and fearful as he stared at them, but somehow determined.

His hands held a sleek black flute mere centimeters from his lips - oh, his hands! They were bandaged, but hardly with care. Even from this distance of several meters Natasha could make out the crooked angles and badly swollen knuckles that shook with pain as they were forced to cling to the instrument.

His eyes darted between the three heroes, terrified without a doubt, but also questioning.

"Uh… hey?" Steve broke the (well, almost - rats still sniffed angrily) silence.

The young man focused on the Captain, injured fingers tightening still further around the flute. "What do you want?" He asked.

His voice was weak, but the demand was not. Even collapsed bloody against a wall he held an air of power that Natasha wasn't sure she wanted to start a fight with.

"Say, uh…" Tony took up when his friend appeared at a loss for words. "You mind calling off your rats so we can talk?"

The rats hissed at this.

"No, calm!" The man scolded them, his voice scratching painfully with volume. Relaxing slightly then, along with the swarm, he settled his eyes on Iron Man. "I will ask again: what do you want?"

"We're here to take out Hydra." Tony said. "But it appears that's already been done for us."

The young man gave a grunt. "Seventeen years and you happen to show up today?"

"Um…"

"Are you it?" Natasha interrupted.

The man blinked at her. "Am I what?"

"The alien weapon." Natasha said. "We heard Hydra was storing one here - are you it?"

The brown eyes narrowed. "The next who tries to cage me will meet the same fate as Bailey, guarantee."

"Bailey?" Steve asked.

The man didn't move, but his eyes travelled across the room to where the mangled body of a Hydra agent lay face down on the tiled floor.

"We're not like Hydra." Steve assured quickly. "We help people, we don't hurt them."

The man found Steve's gaze and held it a long, quiet moment. "And how can I be sure?"

Steve looked to Tony and Natasha before stepping past them into the room, holding out an arm to indicate they should stay back.

He approached the young man slowly, watching those brown eyes as they searched him desperately, as he tensed, as he brought his flute to touch his lips as if it might defend him - and for all Steve knew, it would.

He stopped three paces from the man and knelt; the rats parted to give him space, but kept the distance between the two men closed tight with their small bodies.

"You're bleeding." Steve said gently. "You're shaking and I bet you're barely staying conscious right now. I swear, we're good people. We're here to help."

The man's eyes cut to 'Bailey' across the room. "Like he helped?"

Steve shook his head. "No. Never like them. Hydra is our enemy."

The man studied him more through half open eyes - Steve wasn't lying, the guy looked like he was going to pass out any second now.

"Hey," Steve said after a rather long quiet. "What's your name?"

The man frowned slightly. "My name…" He stared at Steve a moment longer, as if judging whether his own name could perhaps be used against him. "Murut." He said finally.

"Murut." Steve echoed, managing a small smile. "I'm Steve… will you let us help you?"

Murut looked over Steve's shoulder, back to Tony and Natasha. "You won't try and take my flute, will you?"

Steve glanced to his teammates. "I… as long as your flute won't hurt anyone… I suppose not."

Murut looked like he wanted to negotiate further, but his eyes were growing visibly heavier. "I… I suppose… that's good enough… for now…"

He brought the flute the extra two centimeters to his lips, and blew a short, high note that made Steve nearly jump out of his skin in surprise.

Every rodent in the room perked their ears, and then all at once fled for the exits - whether that be through the vents, or under Tony and Natasha's feet, they didn't seem to have a preference.

In seconds they were gone.

"They…" Steve blinked at Murut. "They really are yours. And they…" His eyes drifted from the young man's eyes to the flute in his trembling grasp. "That flute…"

Murut's eyes narrowed. "You promised." He said wearily, but still tensely.

"I…" Steve stared. "I…"

"We'll see." Natasha said. "But as long as your little friends don't try to consume us alive we should be okay for now."

"If you harm me," Murut warned. "They will come for me. And they will not be kind."

"We won't harm you." Tony assured, risking removing his faceplate after another glance around him revealed no rats. "Like Steve said, we're here to help."

Murut scowled, but even leaning against the wall he swayed. "I am trusting you." He said. "Am I going to regret it?"

"I certainly hope not." Steve said. He offered his hand to help the man to his feet.

Murut nodded slightly. "So do I."

He took Steve's hand, and the captain's gaze fell to the heavily damaged appendage. He carefully slid his hand down to grasp Murut's arm rather than his swollen fingers, and pulled him up.

Murut lurched forward, his knees buckling, slumping against Steve's chest.

Natasha jumped forward as Steve fumbled to grab at the thin cotton shirt and pull the man up.

Murut weakly struggled to replace his feet beneath himself, and found himself with one arm around Natasha's shoulder and the other at Steve's waist, grasping feebly at the fabric around his flute as if that might steady him.

Tony approached from the front, lightly tilting Murut's head up to meet his eyes. "Concussion." He announced. "But to be honest that's all I can tell."

"He needs a hospital." Steve said.

"...hospital?" Murut mumbled. "That… doesn't sound like a good… idea."

"It's not." Natasha agreed. "Let's get him back to the Quinjet."

"Team!" Linda's voice radiated through the coms. "You're not alone in the building! I can't pinpoint it yet, but there's definitely someone alive in there, maybe even on your floor!"

"Already found him, Linda." Tony told her with something between a snort and a sigh. "Bringing him up now - he needs medical attention."

"Wait-you already-oh! Okay! I'm… on it." The clacking of her keyboard carried over the mic. "SHIELD medics will be waiting or you when you land. A Hydra agent?"

"No." Tony said. "One of Hydra's prisoners."

They could practically feel the young woman grimace. "Is it… on of ours?"

"No," Steve replied when Tony looked like he was about to answer overly sarcastically. "He's not. Just have everything ready, yeah?"

"But… yes, captain."

"My… flute." Murut muttered.

"No one is going to take your flute." Steve assured the half-conscious… whatever he was. "We're here to help you, remember?"

"Better… not be lyin'."

"I'm not." Steve said.

"We'll see."


	5. The Pied Piper

"Damn." Linda breathed as she fell in step bedside Iron Man and Captain America. "He looks… human."

"He's not." Natasha said cooly. "Go and see if you can find Dr. Banner - we need to know what this thing is and Bruce's the best we've got."

Steve scowled at her as he and Tony surrendered the limp man between them to medics. " _That thing_ is a _he_ , Natasha."

" _He_ ," Natasha hissed, anger flashing in her eyes just a moment, "Ordered nearly two hundred men eaten alive by rats."

"Look at his injuries, Nat." Tony stepped out of his suit and sent it away to the lab on autopilot. "If someone did that to me, I'd kill them too."

"You'd have them eaten alive by rats?" Natasha raised an eyebrow. "I've seen many terrible things - half of which I'd created. But that was a new level of crazy. The rats started with their faces, Tony. Their _faces_."

"What makes you say that?" Steve asked. "How would the rats even reach their faces before the rest of them?"

"I don't know." Natasha said. "But that is what happened. Seriously, have you never seen dead bodies before?"

"I for one try not to get up close a personal with zombies." Tony said. "Speaking of that, we should probably follow pied piper there up to medical."

"What do zombies have to do with Murut?" Steve frowned.

Natasha, in turn, snapped her fingers. "Pied piper! That's it!"

Tony blinked. "What? You appreciate my nicknaming abilities for once?"

"Idiot." Natasha rolled her eyes. "Neither of you heard what he said, did you? When Steve first started talking to him?"

The men blinked at her.

Natasha sighed. "He said; 'seventeen years and you happen to show up today' - tell me I'm not the only one who sees him as barely twenty?"

Steve nodded. "You think Murut is from this… legend."

"Thor and his relatives spawned a whole religion." Natasha said. "It shouldn't be too hard of an alien from elsewhere to show up and become one of our fairy tales."

"Great." Tony sighed. "Next we'll be meeting Little Red Riding Hood."

"I wouldn't put anything past it anymore." Steve said.

"Right." Tony said. "Let's not jynx it."

"Guys…" Natasha shook her head, and her eyes rested on the flute Steve was still holding. "We should probably get after Murut - if he wakes up and his flute's not nearby…"

"Then he can't do shit." Tony said. "How else would Hydra have contained him seventeen years? They kept that cursed thing out of his reach."

"He's alien, Tony." Steve reminded. "I doubt playing the flute is the only special ability he has."

"What?" Tony puffed. "Is he an evil witch in disguise then? A dragon in human skin?"

"As you said," Natasha grumbled. "Don't… 'jynx' it or whatever."

"You don't believe in that crap."

"No," Natasha said. "But I believe in peace and quiet for one goddamned elevator ride."

"Sorry."

"No you're not."

"True."


	6. Safe Enough

Murut opened his eyes to a blinding white light and felt his chest inflate with a ragged breath that felt like it was well overdue.

The lights. The feel of the cool hard metal beneath him. The distant beep of machinery. No! This was just like Hydra! Oh, why was he so stupid?

He had to escape now, while he might still have a chance - Murut scrambled blindly, unable to keep quiet the yelps of pain when his broken hands collided with unseen obstacles but he didn't stop.

People were screaming. Trying to hold him down. To stop him…

Through the blur of everything a hand wrapped around his wrist, strong and firm. Something was pressed into his bleeding palm. It was familiar. It was soothing. It was calling to him, thousands of voices pleading him to raise them from their weakness and send them off to war…

Pain spiked but Murut closed his fingers around the flute nonetheless, desperately clinging to the beacon of safety in this horridly foreign world, to the voices, however demanding, however taxing on his fragile conscious, that promised him he wasn't alone.

Everything went dark.

When Murut awoke, the light was still there. It was duller than before, but he still squinted against it, turning his head weakly to keep the light from glaring directly into his tired eyes.

"Hey, doc," a voice said. "Dim the lights, will you?"

A shadow crossed over everything, and Murut dared pry his eyes open past their original slit.

"Murut," a hand was hovering just over his shoulder, weary to touch him, but not backing away either. "Murut, can you hear me?"

Murut cut his eyes upward to the speaker - soft blue eyes peered down at him from a rather close distance, searching his face… was that _hope_?

"Murut, say something." The man ordered gently.

"What…" Murut found it hard to focus long on one spot; he let his gaze meander over the man's face, once in a while finding his eyes. "Who are you?" He decided to ask.

The soft face creased with a light frown. "What's the last thing you remember, Murut?"

Murut thought… what was the last thing he remembered? This man didn't seem like Hydra. And somehow Murut's instincts hadn't automatically categorized the man as an enemy. Why was that?

Murut hadn't met a non-enemy in seventeen years. What made this man different?

" _Better… not be lyin'."_

" _I'm not."_

Murut forced his eyes to lock with those intense blue ones above him. "You're Steve."

His mouth had moved, speaking with knowledge he hadn't known he possessed.

"Yes, I am Steve." The blue eyes smiled a little. "Do you remember who she is?"

Murut sat up and followed Steve's gaze as the tall man pointed across the room to the doorway, where a woman with short red locks leaned in the threshold, slowly eating a muffin and watching him with cold eyes.

 _The way a vulture looks down on dying predators._

Murut shook the thought away and willed his mind to name her sharp features.

"I… I don't know." He said.

"Good." The woman said stiffly, taking a bite of muffin that was more vicious than the last.

Murut looked back to Steve, who sighed. "I don't suppose you remember Bruce either?"

Murut slowly shook his head. "I assume I am supposed to?"

"You were pretty out of it when you woke up yesterday." Steve said. "It's okay. As long as you don't start forgetting more things you should be fine."

"Yesterday…" Murut looked down to the flute resting in his limp bandaged hands. "How long have I been unconscious?"

"Almost a week." Steve said. "For a while we thought you wouldn't wake up at all. Murut, any normal human would be dead with those injuries."

"Surly by now we both know I'm not a normal human." Murut cast Steve a look under a raised eyebrow, his head tired and not really wanting to settle back on his shoulders properly.

"Yeah, well," Steve cleared his throat. "We still don't know what you are instead."

Murut sat there for a moment, his head growing heavier, his body tingling with pain nulled by the IV in his arm, his hands icy and void of feeling other than numbing cold.

He found his head settled back on its pillow, not remembering lying back down.

People were talking around him, one voice Steve, the other a male voice he was sure he had heard before but could not place.

He had been completely defenseless for an entire week and woken up to no cuffs on his wrists, his wounds tended to with actual care, and his flute rested in his hands.

He didn't know who the hell these people were and why they bothered with him, but he supposed it was safe enough here to risk closing his eyes and once more drifting off into the darkness.

Not that he had much of a say in the matter anyhow.


	7. Clear Heads

Even though Bruce wasn't even "that kind of doctor" he somehow found himself supervising the recovery of SHIELD's latest alien marvel.

And he was undoubtedly alien - his lungs were over a fourth larger than they should have been, and all his other organs had been systematically rearranged and/or reduced in size to compensate, including the fact that he only had one kidney.

And one had not been removed - he simply had never had a second one.

To add to the list of _Reasons Alien-Named-Murut is Definitely an Alien_ , his blood contained high amounts of benzene - a chemical compound that had no business in anyone's bloodstream.

But there it was, chugging along through Murut's veins seeming perfectly at home, the ill effects it should be causing to the humanoid body nonexistent.

In short, Bruce had no idea what to do with the man. Medicines were out of the question - considering Murut had what was basically poison rushing through him, there was no telling what substances might actually be toxic to him.

After three days they had risked a mild painkiller and some light sedatives, after a lot of testing done to Murut's blood, and thankfully there had been no bad reactions. Still, they were reluctant to try anything more.

A week after Steve, Tony and Natasha had dragged the alien into the med-wing, the man finally woke up properly, fairly lucid (unlike the last few times he had woken up. They'd had to manhandle him back onto his cot more than once) and actually able to have a meaningful conversation with Steve.

Of course, that had been during the two hours Bruce had run to shower and have a decent meal for the first time in that entire stretch, so he missed it. But at least Murut hadn't been alone…

Clint had returned from his own mission three hours ago, and had been sort of filled in. Now he, Bruce, Tony, Natasha and Steve stood in the hall outside of Murut's room, more or less arguing.

"Let me get this straight," Clint folded his arms. "There's an alien in there who barley a week ago had over a hundred Hydra agents eaten alive by rats?"

Tony shrugged. "Sounds about right."

Clint scowled. "And he has this flute that somehow made it happen?"

"We're still not sure how the flute works," Steve reminded. "We know he was somehow communicating with the rats through it, but Bruce has been unable to run any tests on it due that we don't want to risk taking it far from Murut's reach."

"My point exactly!" Clint tossed his hands up. "He brutally murdered a bunch of guys with that thing and you're letting him sleep with it like a teddy bear?"

"I don't like it either, Clint." Natasha cut in. "But," she sighed. "In the alien's defence, those Hydra agents apparently had him locked up for seventeen years."

"And from the looks of it," Steve added. "They spent that time torturing him."

Clint grimaced, but didn't relent. "That doesn't mean we can trust him. He's an… an alien!"

"So's Thor." Steve reminded.

"Yeah, and so's Loki." Tony said. "Look how he came out."

"Thank you, Tony!" Clint waved an arm at the billionaire, almost elbowing Natasha in the face.

Stepping out of Clint's striking range, Natasha frowned. "I suppose it's not so much _us_ trusting _him_ as it is _him_ trusting _us_."

"Why do we care if he trusts us or not?"

"Guys!" Bruce interjected. "You all have points, okay? But now is not the time for you to bring them up!"

"Don't tell me you are siding with them." Clint complained. "I swear to god, it's like you've all gone crazy or something."

"Bruce is right," Steve decided. "We don't need to be arguing right now - Murut should wake up again soon, and we all need to have clear heads."

"Clear heads!?" Clint cried. "That alien could possibly kill us all and you wanna go in there and introduce ourselves and ask to be pals?"

"Well, technically he's already been introduced to Steve." Tony said.

"Tony," Natasha sighed. "Shut up."

"Rude!"

"Guys!" Bruce tried again, rubbing his eyes - all their shouting was giving him a headache. "We don't have time for this!"

"Make time for it!" Clint retorted. "If we _are_ going to chat up Mr. Alien in there, I'd like to know what the hell we plan to get out of it!"

"He has a point." Natasha muttered.

"Okay, okay!" Steve said. "Just calm down, and I'll tell you - hey! I said calm down not pull your hair out!"

Tony looked to Bruce. "How long until the alien wakes up?"

Bruce pursed his lips. "About half an hour."

"Yeah…" Tony droned. "We might wanna pump some more sedatives into him. I think this is gonna take awhile."

Bruce sighed, long and heavy. "You're probably right. I'll see if I can't add another hour onto our timeline…"


	8. Coincidence? I Think Not!

Before he even opened his eyes, Murut knew he was being watched. Several pairs of eyes boring into him, some hopeful, some grudging, some seemingly bored with the whole watching-the-alien-sleep business in general.

She shifted as slowly as he could, taking in the fact that his flute was still cool and smooth in his grasp, and that he remained unchained. So far so good.

He carefully cracked an eye open and scanned over the group that was scattered about his small room, none really facing him properly but all eyes undoubtedly on him.

"Good morning, Murut."

Murut homed in on the taunt smile that Steve offered him. It wasn't exactly reassuring, but it was better than nothing, he supposed.

Murut pushed himself to sit up and rubbed his eyes. "How long was I out this time?"

"About five hours." A shorter man with dark wavy hair replied. He wore a lab coat over a green sweater and worn jeans, and a pair of safety goggles hung haphazardly around his neck on a cord of elastic.

Murut had the feeling he'd come across this man before, but couldn't place him.

He scanned the room again, this time taking in details of every person.

The muffin-eating redhead from before was there, and she appeared to be in no better a mood than before. From the creases around those narrowed eyes, Murut wondered if she could even make any other expression anymore.

Standing next to her, arms folded and lips pursed was a man with close-cropped hair and what appeared to be no less than a medieval quiver on his back. His leathery vest and matching pants and boots made for a rather confusing sight, but Murut couldn't really judge, not when Steve had rescued him wearing a bulletproof halloween costume.

Then there was a man that Murut could have sworn he'd seen before, but couldn't remember - more notable than his particular features or messy raven hair was the fact that he was shorter than the other men in the room, by a decent amount too, but he stood with his back straight and his head high above his shoulders and a general air of authority that gave Murut the impression he was more powerful than he appeared.

Closest to Murut's bed was Steve, his blond hair out of place and his blue tee rumpled, like he'd slept in it. His jeans seemed fresh enough, but they wouldn't last long if Steve kept picking at loose threads like he was now. His worn hiking boots shifted a little as Steve rocked slowly from foot to foot, their thick soles adding at least another inch to his already great height.

The scientist (at least Murut assumed he was a scientist. Safety goggles seemed a little strange for a normal doctor to wear.) seemed the least threatening of the entire group, even though Steve had already swore a hundred times over that he was there to help, well… there was no way Murut could deny that it was a the body of a warrior that bore those puppy-dog eyes, and he didn't really want to risk it.

Yes, this… scientist seemed like a decent human. He was the only person in the room without the rippling muscles of a racehorse, for starters. Second, his hands - they fidgeted, in his lab coat pockets one moment and smoothing his sweater the next. It was a nervous fidget rather than a fearful one, and made him the best candidate for someone with a strong sense of empathy.

Murut found Steve's eyes and tried to return the smile. "Friends of yours?"

Eyes bright, Steve nodded. "Yeah. They're friends. Feeling any better?"

Murut felt behind his head, and found half-healed stitching where he had felt blood back in the Hydra base. "I… suppose. Define better."

The scientist rubbed his hands together. "Well you are awake and lucid and your major injuries are healing up nicely, so you'll be better shortly."

Murut tilted his head at the scientist. "I know your voice."

The scientist shrugged, not really looking at him. "I wouldn't be surprised - I've been in and out of here since you were brought in."

Murut hummed lightly, looking back to Steve. "You obviously have something you want to say or you wouldn't have dragged all your friends down here at once. What's going on?"

Steve bit his lip, brow creased, but before he could speak the shorter, raven-haired man spoke, his voice a little deeper than Murut had expected. "Basically Clint here," he waved to the man with the quiver, "wants to know why the hell you would have over a hundred people eaten alive by rats, and quite frankly I'm curious too."

" _Tony_ ," Steve groaned. "I thought we agreed you'd stay out of the conversation?"

"Hey! I was getting bored just watching you stand there and think!" The raven-head defended. "I thought we came down here to talk, not stare at each other!"

"Do we have to do this now?" The scientist pleaded, but he seemed too tired to put much heart into the complaint.

Murut took note as the redhead rolled her eyes and the archer man sucked in a strained breath, but neither intreviened.

"Do you two argue a lot?" Murut wondered aloud.

Steve and Tony momentarily composed themselves and once again faced Murut's bed.

"Uh…" Steve frowned. "I… guess so? I mean…"

"Are we gonna get to the point or are we gonna chit chat?" The archer interrupted. "'Cause right now it looks like chit chat."

Steve nodded and Tony gave a little huff, but stepped back.

"Sorry, Murut." Steve said, shaking himself a little and folding his arms loosely. "We just…" He had started to chew his lip again, and Murut knew Tony was about to jump in any second now.

Apparently the redhead saw it too, because she reluctantly spoke, in that deadpan tone of her's. "When we found you Murut the Hydra base was in complete devastation. Corpses everywhere, people eaten by rats - rats you controlled somehow. We need to know how and why."

"Why?" Murut blinked at her. "Wh...why?" He waved his arms, gesturing to himself as a whole. "Have you taken a look at me? I did what I had to to get out of there before they killed me!"

"And you waited seventeen years to do so when you had the power to slaughter them all?" She raised an eyebrow.

"It's not like… I…" Murut looked her up and down, but could see no motives behind her stance where she leaned in the corner, arms crossed tight against her leather-clad chest.

"What?" She prodded stiffly. "You wait seventeen years to break out of there and it happens to be the day that we show up to bust the place? Forgive me if I find that a little suspicious."

"The timing was not my decision!" Murut explained. "Last week was the first chance at escape I ever got, and I took it!"

"So someone let you go on the same day we happen to show up to bust the place?"

"Natasha!" Steve chided loudly.

"No! No one-" Murut stopped cold.

She… she was right. Seventeen years and the one day he finally gets in reach of his flute is also the same day Steve and whatever show he's got running appears.

"Oh gods." Murut squeaked, his hands falling limp in is lap, his flute suddenly very heavy as it lay on top of his bandaged fingers.

"Did he say gods?" Tony asked. "As in plural, 'cause I swear I heard-"

Steve came up to the foot of the bed, bending so he was Murut's height. "Murut, what's wrong?"

Murut could only barely shake his head, too overwhelmed with the possibilities.

Steve bent even further, folding his arms on the mattress and looked up into Murut's wavering eyes. "Hey, it's okay. You're probably still really tired and Natasha just went too fast - don't worry about it."

"No, you don't understand." Murut looked up to him, trying to convey the sheer seriousness of what he was saying through the eye contact. "She's right, Steve. Seventeen years and I happen to be given the means to escape only a few hours before you show up?"

"Hey, I admit it's a little weird but-"

"It's not just weird!" Murut cried. "The whole thing feels like it was a set up now - escape Hydra just for something worse to happen!"

"Shhh." Steve put gentle hands on Murut's arms, keeping him from waving them and smacking Steve in the face with his flute. "Nothing's going to happen to you."

"Steve, listen to me!" Murut was practically shaking as thought after thought fired through his head. "It's not me I'm worried about."

 _ **(A/N: I'm glad you guys are enjoying my story! To be honest I wasn't expecting much of a** **response** **at first and I'm so excited! Also thx Armae for leaving such sweet comments! They make me smile so big I think my face is gonna fall off! Anyhow now that it's summer I should be able to post more often. I still won't have a posting schedule, since whenever I have a deadline I panic and I don't want crappy** **writing** **coming out of it so just no, but I promise I won't leave you guys waiting for long! Thx again!)**_


	9. Eight Days Ago

EIGHT DAYS AGO:

Hydra Agent Marcus Bailey rose from the metal chair with a sigh as his subordinates hauled their unconscious prisoner up between them and dragged him from the room.

As he exited the room himself an aid ran up to him, eyes wide.

"Agent Bailey, you have a visitor."

Bailey frowned. "Since when?"

The aid fidgeted a little. "She says it is urgent."

"She?"

The aid nodded.

Bailey made his way up to ground level at a pace faster than his usual, coming through the double doors into the lobby of their facility to find a familiar woman standing there.

He stopped, and they looked at each other a long moment.

"What are you doing here?" He asked finally.

Her icy expression did not waver. "We need to speak. Alone."

With a glance to the guards at the front doors Bailey nodded. He walked back through the double doors and held one open for her.

He led her down the hall and into the guard break room, which for the moment was vacant.

Door falling closed behind them, Bailey turned to her. "What's going on?"

She raised a single eyebrow. "Show a little patience, Marcus."

Bailey shook his head. "You only show up places with things are about to go south. What's happened?"

The woman sighed, folding her arms to tap her fingers against her elbow. "I wish I could say you were incorrect, Marcus, but alas something has gone very wrong."

"Define something."

The woman narrowed her eyes. "Shield has begun to suspect… things." She said. "We don't know how, and just between you and me I believe they have someone on the inside."

Bailey's eyes widened. "What do they know?"

She shook her head. "We are still unsure. But it is suspected that this location has been compromised… along with some knowledge of what is done here."

Bailey was frozen. "H...how could that happen? After all this time?"

"Like I said," the woman frowned. "I believe they have a spy somewhere within our ranks."

"Where? Who?"

"I don't know." She grumbled. "I'm trying to dig them up, but they are hidden well."

Bailey shook his head. "If… if this base is discovered… we are not built to withstand an outward attack."

"You don't stand a chance." The woman agreed. "And that's even if they _don't_ send the Avengers in."

"Are…" Bailey swallowed. "Are we evacuating?"

The woman scowled. "No."

Bailey stared. "...No?"

She nodded. "You and I both know how the superiors feel about this operation of yours. They do not deem you worthy of saving."

Bailey looked down to his shoes. He stared at them a long time - the scuffs on the toes, the worn soles and the cracking elastic.

"You have to unlock it."

Bailey's head snapped up. "What?"

The woman was deadly serious, too. "You don't have long, Marcus. You have to unlock the weapon. Now."

Bailey felt his mouth open and close several times, sound fighting to come out. "H-how? Do you know how long I've been trying to unlock that cursed thing? Seventeen years! I can't suddenly have it in my hands in a week!"

"You don't have a week." The woman said. "You have hours. Days at most."

"It cannot be done!"

"Not the way you've been doing it." The woman concurred. "You need to think bigger."

"I cannot do anything more than what we have been doing!" Bailey cried. "Anything else and I risk killing us all!"

"Because you're not all going to die when Shield gets ahold of you." She said.

Bailey blinked at her. "What would you have me do then?"

The smile he was answered with almost made him wish he hadn't asked.


End file.
